A friend's spell - The Musketeers
by Asplenium
Summary: A novelization of four particular moments of Ep.1 in Season 3, that have made me wonder a lot about the state in which Athos was when they finally re-encounter Aramis. D'Artagnan was happy, Porthos hardly containing his anger, but Athos seemed to just bask in the moment and in total awe of seeing Aramis. Why so? Athos' POV.
1. Chapter 1

**A friend's spell**

 ** _These four pieces are an extension and novelization of four particular moments of Episode 1 in Season 3, that got me me wonder a lot about the state in which Athos was when they finally re-encounter Aramis. D'Artagnan was happy, Porthos hardly containing his anger, but Athos seemed to just bask in the moment and in total awe of seeing Aramis, more than anyone could tell, or even himself imagine. And it showed through the entire episode. Why so? These are just a few guesses. All of them are Athos' POV._**

 _ **Alexandre Dumas and BBC, thank you for creating such memorable characters. I don't own any of them, just the thoughts they trigger in my mind.**_

 _ **This is my first fic, I still not sure about the title, but I've been holding it for a while, it's time to release it. And I guess that as much afraid as I am of reactions and comments, I will welcome them all. Thank you in advance!**_

 **1\. A light at the end of the tunnel**

The moment Athos laid eyes on his face, he was totally taken by surprise. Time stopped. Earlier that day he may have considered for a half-second the possibility of seeing him among the other monks, since it was, after all, the Monastery of Douai they were headed; but the moment they started getting close to the buildings and when they entered through the tunnel and the caves of the monastery guided by young Luc, he stopped all distracting thoughts. His focus was on the gunpowder and their enemies, all his senses and his mind on the present mission.

So when they had cornered the shadow who was moving in the darkness and was trying to escape from them, the moment when the man had no choice but surrender, when that man had turned around, and the glim coming from the tiny cellar windows allowed them to recognize his features, it had been one of the biggest and best surprise to him in many years. Christmas, Easter Monday altogether in that precise instant. There _he_ was in all his glorious bodily presence. His kind energy instantly pouring through, his brother's joy indeed reaching his dark brown eyes and his smile lightening up the entire room.

At that precise moment it was not the coincidence -or not so much- of meeting Aramis in such circumstances that struck Athos. It was not the surprise of the encounter. What struck him is that as soon as he saw him, he was caught in his friend's spell. There was no monk there. Just Aramis still being.. so Aramis.

How did he do it? How the simple physical presence of someone could have such effect on other's people mood and spirit? And how can that feeling could be back in a snapshot?

Aramis possessed that innate quality. Nature gave him good looks, no one would dare to say the contrary. But he had so much more, a grace shining inside out. Something noble in him; a divine spark, one could say. Centuries ago, French Kings were believed to have healing powers given to them by God to rule men with legitimacy, fairness and compassion. Aramis did that without any born-right. He brought light and comfort wherever he was. There was a generosity in his being that just shined through from his soul towards the others. It was not nobility by blood or title. Aramis nobility was of heart. Was it due to that unshakeable faith to the Lord, to his love for God and for life? Athos had wondered so many times what made Aramis so special...

He wondered about it from the very first day they met. How he was drawn to his wit and easy-going ways, and no matter how hard he resisted, it had been impossible to refuse that nagging gift. God knows he fought the feeling at the beginning, he knew that most of the time, this friendship would mean troubles! Lord he had been right about that. Yet it had been a compelling pull, a friendship he knew he needed. His young comrade back then had found ways to breach his walls without forcing them, just cracking them, by his way of being full of life and sarcasm, but also caring, kind, gentle, none of these qualities ever compromising his reliable skills and strength as a soldier. These cracks later let space for Porthos to enter too, and finally became a wide open door for D'Artagnan to fill those parts of his soul aching for one lost brotherhood long time ago.

There were so many reasons to enjoy Aramis' presence or to witness his qualities, but ultimately, whatever you'd chose to see in him, you just had to surrender to it. Most people would. He had witnessed it so many times. Those who wouldn't would be most likely jealous, or would just stop at his other innate quality: to be as annoying and irritating as possible, due to his incorrigible smartass way of doing things. But if you were able to just see beyond the gesture, the acting, the pride, his heart was just so powerful. You'd fall in love with this man over and over, just like he was falling now, simply taking in the feeling of Aramis' friendship, who had never stopped being his brother.

It felt to him like a silent wish came true. Was that real or just a dream?

Athos could not detach his eyes from Aramis. He was simply basking at his sight, totally in awe of having his brother in front of him. In the flesh. He had truly thought so many times about meeting him again lately. A longing that he had not shared with D'Artagnan and much less with Porthos. D'Artagnan was aching to see Constance, and Porthos had banned Aramis from his thoughts, buried the painful absence of their brother very deep down, making clear he didn't want to talk about him. How could he tell them that he would give anything to spend an evening with Aramis by the fire or in a tavern? To exchange feelings in their unique banter. Let him put his hand on his shoulder or rest on his forearm and let that wave of Aramis' energy reach him. Would they take it as they were not enough? Athos didn't want to hurt their feelings, but it was months now he was thinking of him.

" _This is not possible_ " had whispered Aramis recognizing them too before leaning towards D'Artagnan who, without a doubt was already reaching for his embrace, with the widest smile Athos had seen on his face for a very, very long time. D'Artagnan was clearly as thrilled as him.

While the three brothers had faced war and death together as one, on their own for a long time now, Aramis was still a missing piece. He was the missing piece for the unit as such, who eventually had to find new ways to fill the void of what Aramis use to bring to it. That was a long list: besides his irreplaceable skills as marksman, his instinctive warrior reflexes, he was also their medic, their priest, their conscience, and no matter what, the one who could deflate any tense situation with a word, a sentence or a smile; because of that he was also the one who would always more easily reach young recruits, children, lay people. This capacity of connecting with people, not scaring them, had helped them many times. But he was also a missing piece for each of them, individually, in unique ways. Athos was not sure how much the others were truly managing his absence: as months and years had passed by, it has become more and more uncomfortable to talk of the good old times and of Aramis. To Athos, though, time had only made more clearly why he was missing him.

In truth if there was an "impossible" thought, it should have been that Aramis really could have believed they were not meant to meet ever again. That this reunion was not to happen. How could he even consider that possibility? Maybe he thought he did not deserve it? Oh, yes, that kind of stupid guilt would be very typical of him. Athos also knew that because of that self-guilt he was probably carrying, right now in that moment, Aramis was for sure the most grateful of them all for this encounter, as if rewarded for something he did not deserve. Realising and remembering the way Aramis' heart and mind would work was only making Athos even more grateful for this impossible encounter.

Aramis, in one piece, smiling at them, looking decently healthy although somehow pale, not dressed as a soldier, no shields up –not like the three of them– seemed to radiate everything Athos was craving: the end of war time, that light so desperately needed at the end of the tunnel made of too many bloody cruel years. Porthos had adjusted admirably to his role on the battlefield and had kept rising above the events by his determination as well as demonstrating impressive tactic and strategic skills. Athos, as centred as he finally found himself to be in the higher officer role, in truth, was feeling heavily the weight of captaincy. He had missed being a musketeer in Paris. Being with civilians. The past year, in particular, had seemed never-ending, a sort of feeling of getting trapped in a time loop. He was witnessing Porthos hardening day after day, D'Artagnan losing hope to see Constance ever again, so many of their regiment dying, good young men, and he knew they all needed to come back home. To Paris. To the Garrison. To Treville. Could the Garrison ever feel home without Aramis? What Paris would be like now? Rumours of what was going on in the city of the lights were worrying.

Even though he had kept his thoughts and feelings to himself, during the last six months his mind had wandered towards Aramis very often. Athos was a good leader on the battlefield. Always showing calm, he knew better than anyone to be authoritative, seemingly detached when giving orders, his legendary glare a powerful tool, head over heart, yet communicating the right kind of concern towards his men. Disciplined. For the sake of men under his command. Rules that were already guiding his previous life as a Musketeer, and even before, those ways instilled throughout his entire education.

But through all the years fighting side by side with Aramis, the marksman had demonstrated him that you could have a beating heart as well, that it actually made them better Musketeers. Better men. Truly, it was sometimes more messy, Athos was often unnerved that part, but Aramis' ways of questioning blind orders, despite his own advice to others of not getting involved, that natural capacity of putting himself into other's people shoes and wanting to help them had almost always gave their inseparable group the feeling of having a moral compass guiding their service. Being a musketeer in Paris was different than just being a soldier, you'd serve a different goal. The life you live has a certain sense. You served your king, but you also served justice, and more importantly, the people. And being a musketeer side by side with his three brothers, that was a life of duty but also of incredible purpose. Not the raw survival when, on the other side were simply following orders as well for some king and piece of land. Not the mind torture to keep refining a battle tactics knowing that so many men may, and will perish because of it, on both sides. Because of your decisions. There was no sense in war. Just the sense of loss lives and he knew he was very tired of it. That's why his mind had been reaching out to Aramis' memories. For all that was not strictly rage, cruelty, but gentleness, easiness, compassion, love. The way Aramis would joyously throw his arm around his shoulders after a fight and heading for the tavern, without even doubting that it would be welcome, and he, Athos, reputed so cold, would not only allow him but definitely welcome his warmth, would shake off his sombre thoughts; the way he always would take care of them, even more than they knew, preserving them from his own demons and battles; the way he would talk about the beauty of women, the way he would stop and smile to a toddler, or still smile even in the saddest moments.

The way Aramis would show his fragility when he would need _him_ , Athos, to be the strong, the wise one; those times that it was not the ever-tempering presence and vital grounding force of Porthos he seek, but those times Aramis would open and show his emotional pain on issues he felt Athos would understand particularly well, for common wounds maybe. In those times, Athos would feel his own gentleness flowing strongly, remembering he was needed, he was being given a chance to give the best of him to his brothers. That was Aramis main gift to him, the need Aramis had of Athos, who could make him feel safe when he decided to open up, like an older brother. That had no price to him. That… incredible trust in their friendship. He had managed without Aramis four years, but now he just needed him back. He wanted him back. More than ever. D'Artagnan himself, who had filled in many ways the heart part in their team, had lost some hope, joy, and would not be able to sustain that role by himself much longer.

All that was meant when he had said to Porthos " _We are also musketeers_ " and forcing the decision to come and help the dwellers of the monastery. Porthos who was insisting of focusing only on their military goal, and not being diverted to help some monks –Athos wondered how much Porthos, at his exact opposite, was trying to avoid such reunion with Aramis. But that was it. Athos said it loud needed to be a Musketeer for people again. For life, and not just for death.

Aramis may have known that truth in his heart when not joining them. That war could have wrecked his soul to a point of no return.

Athos had not been disappointed by his decision. Often during these years he had even been glad the marksman had made the choice not to go to war again, like a piece of them, of what they were once, was preserved. The only doubt he had all the way long was if Aramis was doing the right thing in secluding himself into a monastic life. How someone so full of passion and as spontaneous as Aramis could ever fit to vows of silence, chastity, temperance, obedience –just the idea that he would obey a religious man would make him smile. Aramis and the word orders never mixed well. How much had he tested the Abbey's and other fathers' patience? He knew that Aramis had felt responsible for Adele's death, then Isabelle's, then the whole affair with the Queen... Marguerite, Lemay. Rochefort's death had not solved much at the end for Aramis torment. For all that Athos had been far from convinced that becoming a monk and spending days in prayer would change anything to Aramis' restlessness. He knew better than anyone that the past can never be changed. Yet, trying to reason Aramis out of his idea would have been impossible. No one could ever make Aramis obey or bend. Maybe Treville. In general, Aramis was the kind of man who needed to find truths by himself, to reach to the conclusions by experience. Or be whispered by God himself in his own heart. It had always proved difficult if not impossible to reason him. This is why Athos was never really trying to give him orders, letting him act instinctively, that being his best quality as a warrior. Aramis would follow Athos lead without doubting when he was being fully trusted, not questioned. Trust was the core of their relationship. But could that way of acting in the battlefield have worked during four years? Yes, he guessed it would have, Aramis had always the best instincts when fighting. He could be so fierce. But Aramis going to war with a guilt-ridden motivation, as his own crusade could have easily cost him his life. That would have been much worse than missing him four years. It would have been devastating.

He simply had missed him, plainly. He had been sometimes worried too. What if anything happened to him? They were three, he was on his own. Who would have his back? A raging fire could happen, for sure he would try to save everyone, at any cost. A contagious fever from attending sick people could reclaim his life too. He had mostly hoped that Aramis would find all the good reasons to keep living even without the anchor of his brothers' presence.

Because, despite how Porthos took Aramis refusal to come to war, thinking that Aramis would not feel guilty for letting them go to battle without him was not making honour to Aramis loyalty and friendship. Of course, it was the direct consequence of his choice. No one else to blame but Athos knew it must have been hard on him. Every time all these thoughts would come to him, and it had been increasingly the case the past year, he had found himself wishing for Aramis to show up, to tell them he was fine, to offer them that incredible simple presence in the darkest moments. All of the sudden, out of nowhere, he was in front of him! Of course troubles would eventually catch up with Aramis, no matter how much he pretended to stay hidden from the world. He was also smiling at such realisation, to the magnet of Aramis was to problems.

" _You still have that knack at getting into troubles brother_ " he said while he smiled deeply, fondly at Aramis and the forecoming physical pleasure of hugging him.

He was entering the light at the end of the tunnel. He was sure of it.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2

_**Thank you all for your nice words! I really appreciate it! Here's the 2** **nd** **token.  
**_

 _ **I forgot to mention there are some spoilers for those who haven't watched season 3!**_

 **2\. Paternal fibre and God's mysterious ways**

He was the one to close his arms around Aramis and lock him there, even if it was a brief second. And just there, during that instant he knew it was real, that the moment was real, he would not wake up from it. Curiously and quite at the same moment, he thought, you fool musketeer in the middle of restricted monks and rules concerning body behaviour. Who has given you comfort all these years? He felt his stomach slightly twisting at the idea of his friend's isolation. Aramis among all, sensual creature that he was... What a way of punishing himself. And it twisted a little bit more at the knowledge of what he knew was coming.

When Aramis turned to Porthos, whispering his name with an incredible softness, the kind of whisper a man would reserve to a woman, really, or in this case to a beloved friend. Except that this was an angry friend, Aramis didn't know it yet. From where he was standing, Athos felt the coldness emanating from the dark-skinned man, who clearly avoided eye contact with Aramis and denied him a true embrace. Aramis stepped back somehow puzzled, looking with attention at Porthos. It would be a painful path for those two ones to find a new common ground. Aramis and Porthos bond was so strong that it may have been the one more severed by their long separation. It was not his role though to step into that and had no intention to do it under any circumstances.

Then, when he heard Luc's amazement at the name of Porthos, " _the"_ Porthos, as if he was in front of mythical heroes, he could not restrain his inward pleasure. A smile on his lips, half amused and half content formed and kept lingering there. Of course it had been impossible for Aramis too to keep his heart and mind away from their brotherhood. Athos could almost hear those stories told in a typically Aramis' style, and glancing at him again, eye to eye, acknowledged that bond between the four of them in one of his own typical short statements: " _Our reputation precedes us_ ".

Porthos on his side was still not giving an inch there, spatting dryly " _there's nothing mysterious about it, we were stationed in the valley below, it's called the war,_ " with the clear desire to sting Aramis after he suggested the role God may have in their reunion; Aramis didn't flinch, he moved away towards another corner of the cellar, and without an ounce of bitterness in return, said " _Oh, we know everything about the war here, specially these little ones_ ". Turning towards the wall, he said " _Children, come out. Meet my friends_."

Suddenly, one by one, six children popped up, silently encircling Aramis who kneeled to be at their height, all of them fitting perfectly around him. Content, calm and smiling with some mischief in their eyes, clearly fully trusting Aramis to be where they were. Who were these children?

The picture in front of them was again the most astonishing one given the context: war, a monastery, mercenaries, danger… Athos, d'Artagnan and Porthos'jaws had almost dropped. Count on Aramis for keep bringing up new challenges. Those were the new companions of Aramis. Children, from four to twelve years surrounding their brother, who stated in the most natural way a new mission order to them " _Now we just have to get them to safety_." Aramis hadn't changed a bit. Bring more trouble into whatever the trouble was. Unbelievable! Yet all this felt so familiar, it was like going back in time, it felt almost good. Aramis' magic was at work.

And contemplating such unexpected tableau, for a fleeting moment, Athos envied Aramis. True, he had not been at their side. But clearly he had made something good out of those years. He had been taking care of children. Children!

There might have been some reason why Aramis had been in this monastery after all. Aramis, in Paris, as a musketeer, would have never been allowed to take care of his own son, to be physically close to him, to hold him, to teach him, to guide him, to kiss him, caress him, cuddle him, hush him goodnight. After Rochefort's accusations, even just looking at the child might have proved dangerous.

The whole affair, if ever confirmed, as it almost happened with Rochefort, would have been indeed " _une affaire d'Etat_ ", one of those complots where people are coldly assassinated for the sake of the Crown, the Country, the State. The victim would have been Aramis and all those who knew, including them and maybe even the Queen. Not easy for him to recognise it, but on that one, they owed quite big to Milady, not only for freeing Aramis, but mostly for revealing the role of Rochefort as a Spanish spy. That revelation had been a much bigger and distracting scandal than the question of the possible real fatherhood of the heir of France.

What a curse on Aramis, Athos had thought at the time. It was not only guilt that made him walked away from their brotherhood. He understood that for Aramis to be so close to his son and yet not acting as a father would have been impossible. It was probably the main reason too to put distance between him and Paris, between him and his duty at the Palace and to the King.

It took some time for Athos to realise it, but with Louis' birth, Aramis _had become_ a father, yet could never _be_ the father of his flesh and blood. If he had been at war with them, he could not have filled that part of his soul either. Aramis always had a way with children, but it was not only that. He had funny ways to connect with children considering he had never completely lost his own child spirit.

But Athos knew Aramis also had a real paternal instinct, a real desire to be a father. Years ago, during the Queen's late pregnancy, one day that he felt Aramis mood sinking by the hour, he had taken him to the tavern, and after too much liquor on both sides, Athos had asked him why that specific night he had slept with the Queen, Aramis told him the whole story with Isabelle. Aramis confessed him that even though he was only 16, he would have married Isabelle, and the idea of a child at that young age did not even scary him. Well, it did but he would have never turned his back on such a precious gift. At the time, Aramis was convinced to be in love and the idea of a family, of a child of his own, he was ready to fight for that, even back then. He would have loved that child. He loved it even when he was not yet born, and truly felt his loss when the miscarriage broke all the bright future he had planned for his family. Athos understood that, he was young too when he fell in love with Anne, and would have fought too for a family with her. But life decided otherwise for both of them.

That night, once back in his own room, staring at the ceiling and reflecting on Aramis' confession, on their parallel yet different experiences, Athos had remembered the episode with Henri and Agnes (by the way, what was it with Aramis and the heirs of the French throne?). Aramis had made a promise to Agnes and did everything he could to secure a safe and healthy life to that baby and his mother, far away from the Court's intrigues. He succeeded. They succeeded. During those days, Athos saw that side of Aramis with Henri and Agnes. Aramis was so natural with the baby, so concerned with Agnes. Yes, he would have been a good husband to Isabelle and a good father to his children. Maybe Agnes reminded him of Isabelle, maybe he was trying to make it up for his own past, but still, his actions had spoken volumes. D'Artagnan at the time couldn't resist and made fun of him, " _Don't get involved. How's that working for you, mmh?"_

Aramis would always get involved. Even in a monastery. He didn't become a monk. He acted as a father.

The realization came upon him in that moment. He was the one who really needed to have more faith. Because seeing his brother now, surrounded by this group of children was telling him that somehow God had been merciful to him, not cruel to Aramis. Maybe the past could not be changed. But the choice of respecting his own vow to God, for all the wrong reasons (or not) at then end gave Aramis the possibility to fulfill his role as a father, and to just not only one, but to many children. It was not only to Luc and monks that he had been telling stories. He had been telling stories to these girls and boys, and probably giving them much more, probably everything he could, and hopefully found some deserved peace in the way.

God worked indeed in mysterious ways.

TBC


	3. Chapter 3

" _The Source of all things, the luminescence, has more forms than heaven's stars. And one good thought is all it takes to make it shine. But a single mistake can burn down a forest in your heart, hiding all the stars, in all the skies. And while a mistake's still burning, ruined love or lost faith can make you think you're done, and you can't go on. But it's not true, it's never true. No matter what you do, no matter where you're lost, the luminescence never leaves you. Any good thing that dies inside can rise again, if you want it hard enough. The heart doesn't know how to quit, because it doesn't know how to lie, You lift your eyes from the page, fall into the smile of a perfect stranger, and the searching starts all over again. It's not what it was. It is always different. It's always something else. But the new forest that grows back in a scarred heart is sometimes wilder and stronger than it was before the fire. And if you sty there, in that shine within yourself, that new place for light, forgiving everything and never giving up, sooner or later you'll always find yourself right back there where love and beauty made the world: at the beginning_ ".

Gregory David Roberts, The Mountain Shadow, p.3.

This passage that opens the suite of Shantaram is just perfect for our characters. For Aramis and for Athos in particular, who always seem to dwell on the mistakes that burn their forests and hide the stars in their scarred hearts. Here to new beginnings.

 **Slowly getting there and the beauty of sarcasm**

The hours were slowly dripping. Waiting for the helpful blanket of the night to be able to get the children and the monks out of this trap, hiding in the cellar, using that dead time to get some rest, despite the palpable tension of having to hold back instead of acting immediately to secure the gunpowder. Aramis was with the children, gathered around him. The echo of their bubbling conversations and games would have had an almost soothing effect if Athos had not been too aware of the dangers. It was already a miracle that none of the mercenaries had come down for some wine or liquor, or just to verify again if no one was hiding there.

Loosely leaning against a wall, Athos kept thinking about that man with the hood, the one they just saw leaving with a little group of men. He was the one giving orders, he was the leader of this operation. He was sure of it, that man was also the same shadow he saw behind the smoke and mist, on the battlefield, a dark presence that had faded before he could see his face. For a second it seemed a ghost, he knew it wouldn't have been the first time his mind played tricks in the aftermath of battles, when exhaustion would take over and the rush of the battle would leave his body. But now he had proof he was not a ghost. A perfect reminder that it's never the dead one must fear, but the living ones. He knew he was starting to be obsessed with that shadow, it was a deep gut feeling, and not a good one. Who was that man? Who was he working for? So many questions to which he did not have answers yet, but he wanted to lay them down in his mind, as a first map. When he would be ready, he knew himself, he would be able to connect the dots, he would get his answers.

Luke's voice brought him back to the present moment, when he heard him ask d'Artagnan, hesitantly: " _Was Aramis really one of you? A Musketeer_?" D'Artagnan looked at Aramis, who was still at the centre of his troop of little companions, and said, grimly " _He was the best shot in the Army_ ". Even though the question was not for him, Athos could not let it at just that. Glancing first at Luke, then at Aramis, he added " _One of the greatest soldiers I've ever known_ ".

Athos did not use a past stance. Deliberately. He said it because it was true. Few compared to Aramis, for fighting instincts, spirit, resources, reflexes. What a contradiction he was. Ninon was right he thought, remembering a comment she made once. As natural as he was with the children, or with women, he was as natural, or even better at combat. Kind and fierce. Always ready for action, always willing to be the first to jump at whatever skirmish or battle. Sleek, resolute and fatal, yet always prone to show mercy if he could spare a life. He was able to enjoy the heat of the fight, and he thrived in the face of risk. Sometimes he would make jokes, real jokes in the middle of the most insane situation, displaying a sort of philosophical detachment that Athos never ceased to be amazed of. Despite of what it might look from the outside, even when he seemed to be doing the most crazy or reckless move, in truth he was completely present, not letting self-doubt get in the way of the conviction that they could win the assault or hold their defence. Of course Aramis was not invincible. At critical times, Athos knew the marksman too had doubted they would survive. But what only him and his brothers knew, is that Aramis strongest force, as a warrior, was precisely that when he was loosing hope, he would do everything to hide it to the others, in order to keep the spirits high. He would put up the best bravado he was capable of, for the others, and in that he would find his strength and faith again in the outcome of the battle. Many musketeers owed him their lives. Many times it helped turn the tide. D'Artagnan and him had that in common. Yes, definitely one of the greatest warriors he's ever met.

It had been true in the past, and he was sure the warrior in Aramis had not disappeared. He could feel the fire in his brother. Just there, simmering. Maybe it was never turned off. Moving back his eyes from Aramis, it was then he noticed Luke's expression. Luke who had just listened to what he and d'Artagnan said about the monk who had been taking care of him and those children for months, maybe years. And there was admiration on Luke's face. And love.

Aramis' spell.

He was witnessing one more time someone surrendering to his brother's heart and kindness, one more person seeing now through the façade. This time it had been a monk façade. A façade nonetheless. Aramis had very likely downplayed his own role in those stories, praising the others instead. Luke was starting to understand who was Aramis. The question Athos had now in mind is if Aramis was clearly understanding it too.

Something stirred inside. He didn't exactly know what this encounter could possibly mean a couple of hours ago. It was just a feeling. Feelings keep adding one to another and now, a plan was forming in the background of his mind. Beyond the light he felt he had reached when he saw him, there was much more Athos was hoping to get, with his brothers, and that included Aramis.

He had to talk to him.

A moment later she asked the blond little girl who seemed so attached to Aramis if she had seen him, and she silently pointed her finger towards the end of the corridor. Porthos was there guarding the entrance of the area. He took a few steps and he heard their voices. He retreated, but before turning his back, he clearly overheard some of Porthos words as he raised his voice to give all the emphasis in his statement: "… _a long time_. _We learned to live without you_ ". Ouch. Porthos wrath was unchained! But Porthos wrath always was like a Vulcan eruption, once it started to show, it would eventually consume itself and die. Then he would too reach for Aramis, because what a lie that was. They never got used to Aramis absence. None of them. Nor did Aramis learned to live without them.

He had told himself he would not interfere between these two, but Athos felt like easing Aramis hurt feelings. Having him so close, at arm's reach, and let's be honest, not knowing what could happen to any of them, he would not let him hurt on a lie.

He found him sitting, unknotting a rope, eyes lowered towards the ground. Occupying his hands had always been a trick Aramis used to tame himself, to find patience in a practical task and stay present. Aramis, when stuck somewhere with nothing else to do, was able to clean his weapons over and over. It was a way to keep his mind on track. Athos always envied that feature in him, as his own mechanism of coping with undesired thoughts was much less elegant and had mostly consisted in drowning himself in wine and ale, not that it helped much anyway.

He sat next to him, looked him in the eye, leaning slightly towards him to say quietly:

" _You have the right to choose any life you wish. We all have."_ Why did he just say _we_ all have? What was it that _he_ wanted to chose? Paris? Not returning to the front? Something else?

Again, Athos had not use the past stance. He was trying to say to Aramis, you can always chose. You can chose now if you want to. You can come back. He actually wanted to tell him you _should_ come back.

He also was curious why he did not even look like a monk at all. He clearly hadn't take his vows. He was dressed like an ordinary man. Not even that ordinary. The soldier was still showing up. This was a long awaited conversation.

" _This"_ he started, meaning the monastery, _"is for the right reasons."_ Aramis was speaking meaningfully. He paused with every name he said: _Adele. Isabela. Marguerite. They all died because they made the mistake of loving me."_ Athos was pulled back in the memory of the crypt with the Cardinal's sinister messenger delivering his cruel revenge on Aramis. The intensity of the feelings had vanished. What a contrast with those anxious months that followed that revelation, where he could sense Aramis 'mourning eating him alive. Yet he still felt responsible for those lost lives. The way he saw it, Aramis had been as much a pawn in the way the events unfolded, as any other. What Aramis could not see, though, is that through his grieving and self-loath, he had always been telling a tale of love. Mourning is indeed the way we love the lost ones. _How loving you could be a mistake,_ Athos thought, _you who loves so much? If you could ask Adele, Isabelle, Marguerite, from their resting place, they would tell you the same_.

" _That's why I am here."_ Athos knew these were the reasons back then, but these were still not good reasons enough for him to stay now. Retreating in a monastery would never bring them back. Hanging Anne did not bring Thomas back. The best thing we can do for the dead is to keep living. Not withdrawing. Although it is not always possible to carry on as if nothing. He himself could not. In the aftermath of Thomas' and Anne death, he had withdrawn in worst ways from life. Athos understood why Aramis thought it was the right thing to do. Or what he felt he needed to do. But after these years of war, he could no longer agree on those reasons.

" _Even the Queen. I couldn't put her and the Dauphin in danger again_. _This is why I made a promise to God, a vow to myself_."

Athos was just letting him speak. _That_ is a better reason, since they are alive, you want to protect them, fair enough. I know you didn't want to leave us. You would rather suffer reclusion in a monastery than to put your son and your love in danger, or even us. You'd sacrifice yourself for them, for all of us. But that was four years ago. And now?

" _after all these years, he didn't think I was ready to take my vows_ "

So the Abbot knew you were not ready, and very likely never would. He was probably just waiting that you discovered it too. Stubborn Aramis. Still need a little help here. Athos suddenly felt a sort of acquaintance with that poor Abbot who had to deal with Aramis on a daily base.

" _I never had a problem with poverty."_

" _Even with celibacy."_ When saying these two last words, Aramis eyes drifted towards him, to see if he was buying it. Athos didn't need to react with words, simply tilted his head as if saying _tss tss.. it's me you're talking to_.

 _It was obedience I could never take to_ ".  
Really! What a surprise, he could have chuckled at him there.

But it would have been a too easy move.

He could do better. Aramis should not see it coming.

" _What about all that chanting_?"

Aramis breathed in Athos' words.

Touché.

Athos knew what he was doing. And he was taking Aramis there, move by move.

Oh, the beauty of sarcasm between them.

That golden place of their brotherhood, where love can be disguised in a joke, in a word, in the tilt of a head.

With that simple question, there it was, there it was! The longing Aramis had of Athos, showed by the look he gave him back, deep, then the smile he could not hold. The look that was saying, even louder than the words, stronger than the clasp on his shoulder " _It's good to see you my friend_ ". Athos thought _you have no idea_ and him too reached for contact, eyes locked, sealing that moment when they were both saying without words how much they have missed each other.

Porthos, telling Athos that it was getting dark and that they needed to move, giving a stern look at Aramis, almost broke the moment. Almost. Because the moment had just happened. Athos was glad he had that conversation with Aramis. He had reached him, made him say out loud a few things. The final estocade* was murmured before he got up: " _Give him time_ ". That was the perfect cue to have Aramis advancing where he wanted him to be.

* Estocade= fencing blow in french


	4. Chapter 4

_**This is the final chapter of that mind exploring of one of the musketeers! I hope you enjoyed it!**_

 _ **I don't know if I will write again a fic, it was very unusual for me to do this, but being someone who has been often apart of the closest friends I have, living abroad and missing some of them cruelly, I think I have been a few times in Athos' state of mind when suddenly life makes you the gift of a reunion with a lost brother or sister. It was a very good way to get back into writing!**_

 _ **Thank you everyone for dropping very nice comments that do make me smile in a very silly way when I read them!**_

 **4\. A long due epiphany: many things, but not a monk**

After the children and the monks had climbed the stairs to sneak out of the monastery grounds, Aramis, looking at Athos, stated more than asked: _"You will follow",_ concerned for his brothers because he was perfectly aware of the negative answer _._ Athos knew concern for them was not the only reason. Aramis knew they could take care of the situation. If Aramis was still there, between him and Porthos, the reason was crystal clear for Athos. Aramis was not truly hovering, he was clinging for a minute more, with them. This was not a time for goodbyes. Their fortuitous meeting had not only been a simple moment of reunion, but rather the opening a new chapter in the tale of the Inseparables. Athos was perfectly aware of it now, and Aramis was surely getting there too.

Athos could sense all was going to fall into place, but the original mission that brought them to the Monastery still needed to be fulfilled. The gunpowder had to be secured. That load could never fall into the wrong hands. But despite of that crucial matter to be solved, there was no way Athos was going to loose Aramis again: " _Head towards the mountains, we will find you_." With that promise, and the acid remark of Porthos " _Your brothers are waiting_ ", upon which Athos and Aramis exchanged a look of common understanding, Aramis disappeared from his sight.

He still had a few hours in front of him to reflect on everything that just happened since the morning. His mind was trying to set the course of what would happen next, what should follow. It not only regarded the shipment of explosive. He was making, for him, for all of them, an important choice. They were not going back to the front. That was it. They would find Aramis, and they were all going back to Paris.

What Athos would not see with his own eyes though, during that brief interval they were separated, was that not only Aramis didn't need to be found, because they already had, but most importantly, that his brother was about to step back into his boots and find himself again.

When the escape of the monks had been uncovered and the threat of the mercenaries closed on them, putting in danger the children's lives, the lion in him simply roared back. The warrior was awaken again, improvising a weapon with rocks, considering for a second to kill or not, but ultimately choosing to make the lethal gest. And when he dared not shoot the man who was holding Luke, doubting his own skills for a moment, he immediately regretted it. The sight of the dagger plunging into Luke's chest was all it took to stop thinking about what he was doing. The shot went straight between the eyes of the bandit. He may have been wearing a robe for too long, but he still could find his target. The fear, during the two seconds until he reached Luke's body would vanished quickly as he discovered that what had been a child's game had finally made the trick. The inspiration Luke took from Aramis' stories and that spurred his young imagination was the cause he was alive.

And when Luke said it: " _so it is true, you are a musketeer_ ", he couldn't deny it any longer. As rusty as he felt his moves were, that's who he was. Letting go of Luke, peering back at the horizon and seeing the Spanish soldiers move towards the Monastery, his mind already flew back to his friends. The children were safe, Luke was safe, the monks were safe, they were no longer his responsibility. But Athos, Porthos and d'Artagnan needed him. He didn't think anymore. Aramis, of the King's Musketeers, was back. He took all the weapons he could from the fallen enemies, and run.

After the fight, after that laughter of Porthos and him still resonating in the woods, after the calm had returned to the monastery and the surroundings, when nothing was left but to leave, all of them ready to mount, D'Artagnan made the only possible question to his captain, expressing their common though: " _Sir,_ _do you think we will need three or four horses?_ " Even Porthos was smiling now.

Athos already knew the answer. He knew that Aramis was riding back with them. Somehow the last year longing that had the face of Aramis in his heart had grown into something bigger. In the past and through the years of their friendship, Aramis had given him so many good things to remember, that his long absence had indeed worked as a spell, but had also awaken something more inside of him. Something he had maybe not been fully aware himself, and maybe things he still was not fully conscious yet, maybe the desire of a different purpose, maybe even the dream of more peaceful life. His wish was not just only a one-day reencounter with a brother. He wanted the Inseparables back together. The four of them. He needed to heal from war, d'Artagnan deserved to start building his life with Constance, and Porthos, just like him, needed to step away from the front. Aramis, once and for all, needed to stop that lonely path of self-sacrifice that was caging his soul in a monastery. The entire last day had been about these truths to come ashore.

There was one last little stride to take to wrap it all. He walked back inside the monastery, and where and how he found him was another blessed moment to see because Aramis' was in pure wonder, immerged in his own epiphany. As happy as a new wed would be, talking to his Lord on the truth that he had realized in the heat of the events.

" _I thought I had understood your plan_ ".

Aramis was finally seeing that maybe he had been wrong all the way down. He didn't need to be secluded in a monk's cell to feel God's presence. He felt it on the battlefield, being just himself, holding that presence of God in his warrior path. The apparent contradiction of his different loyalties was resolved in the union of them in his life as a musketeer.

" _In the middle of all the danger and excitement You were closer to me than any time during all those years. I felt so… alive_."

Athos, listening at Aramis, felt like his brother had finally freed himself from a heavy weight on his chest, that he had just released a breath he was not even aware to be holding for so long. He felt himself the relief and the joy of Aramis' realisation.

" _This what You have made me. A musketeer_ ".

Aramis had sense his presence, so Athos approached him, and solemnly draw the final conclusion :

" _You are many things, Aramis. But the monk is not one of them._ "

In that familiar gest that Athos had missed so much, Aramis put his arm over his shoulder and simply answered " _You can't argue with God_." Athos certainly would not discuss on that point today.

 **Epilogue**

 ****The massive silhouette of Notre-Dame de Paris finally stood in the landscape, dominating the entire settling of the sprawling city, and instinctively, all of them, as they used to do it in the past when the nearness of the capital would tell them that they were almost home, they slackened the pace of their horses, taking in the sight. Athos could not resist the pleasure to peek again at Aramis, smiling at his presence, and even more comforted by the fact that it felt so right, also due to the fact that Aramis may have made peace with himself and his past at least. Athos was glad, a feeling of satisfaction inside of him for having helped Aramis sorting out the threads of his own story. He felt a gratitude he had not felt for a long time He knew he would always feel a responsibility in helping any of his brothers. There was no other way he could be totally content. This one had been missing, but he was truly back.

They stopped, in the middle of that golden field, under a strong early summer sun. Finally, here they were, Paris in front of them and Aramis by their side again.

Porthos took a bottle out of the pocket of his saddle. Took a long sip, and passed it to d'Artagnan. They raised the bottle of wine as in a celebration. They had reasons to celebrate. They survived war and returned home. They had their missing piece back. They drank silently for endings and new beginnings. For their brotherhood. They had all grown and matured, in different ways. They were not that young anymore, yet he felt that they were even stronger now. And as Athos passed the bottle to Aramis, his eyes took again the feeling of having his brother next to him, Aramis confirming that with his eyes. He didn't know what was ahead of them, but in that precise moment, he could not find a reason to start worrying. Tomorrow would very likely bring its own trouble. In the meantime, the feeling of riding with his brothers, towards the Garrison, was like no other, and he was going to enjoy it.

 **The end**


End file.
